Silent Night
by bluespiritgal
Summary: A need to be near. A "Sweet Revenge" moment for the holidays.


**Silent Night**

The tall blond moved quietly down the long hallway, his steps a soft tap on the linoleum floor. Accent lights coming off scallop shaped fixtures on the walls illuminated the hallway in a softer, kinder glow in the late hours over the harsher florescent overhead lights used during the day.

Soft piped music drifted from the station at the middle of the long hall, while across the tall counter small, colored, twinkling lights had been strung and a tiny artificial Christmas tree adorned with miniature ornaments sat on top.

A head rose from the desk and smiled up at the quiet man standing in front of her. She was not surprised to see him, particularly this night. He often came in the wee hours, sometimes on his own as if drawn by a need, sometimes because he was called.

Tonight the man looked very tired, almost exhausted, with a sad, lost appearance to him, his shoulders a little slumped, his clothes a bit rumpled.

"How is he tonight?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Asleep at the moment. He had a pretty rough day. We gave him an extra dose of pain pills tonight."

The tall blond nodded grimly. "I'll just peek in, make sure he's all right?"

She nodded gently.

He wasn't really supposed to be here. That had been the deal. But then again…

He smiled gratefully.

He continued down the hall, passed the wide doors, a few partially opened, a few shut, the others open but mostly empty on the quiet ward until he reached the third room from the end.

He paused then pushed the door quietly open and slipped in.

The muted glow coming from a recessed fixture in the corner bathed the outline of the still figure lying stretched out beneath several blankets in soft light.

The sounds in the room were quietly familiar, the hiss of oxygen, the muted rhythmic beating of the monitor, the slight ragged intake and exhale of breath from the man lying motionless.

The blond eased up to his side, stared down at the sleeping face framed in dark curls, a face still much thinner than it should be.

The fan of lashes lay closed against the pale skin, skin that had lost much of its olive complexion.

The flexible cannula rested across the gaunt cheeks, its two prongs inserted into each nostril pushed much needed oxygen into compromised, still healing lungs.

For a while he just watched the soft rise and fall of the man's chest, the mere fact its presence continued, though still fragile, a reassuring balm to the weary man who stood before him.

He noticed the left shoulder still heavily bandaged poking out from beneath the covers. Gently he drew the blanket up a little higher to cover it, his hand lingering with the contact.

He didn't intend to wake him, knowing how much his best friend needed his rest, yet the eyes fluttered open nevertheless, almost as he had been expecting him.

In them the blond could still read their exhaustion and underlying pain that always seemed to be there, despite that fact he was pumped up on medication most of the time. It matched the own deep ache in his heart.

"Heya," the blond said.

"Heya, yourself," the soft breathy, somewhat raspy voice whispered back.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"'Time is it?" the voice slurred.

"Late."

"What ya doing here?"

The blond smiled down. "Checking up on you of course."

"Thought we went through this…told ya to go home…get some sleep," the breathy voice said, each sentence still an effort to get out.

Long supple fingers, as if moving in their own need, reached up to touch a soft unruly curl framing the too thin face.

"I-I did."

He felt the dark indigo eyes upon him, the eyes, despite their own sleepiness, reading the lie.

"For a few hours…"

"Gonna be…okay, Hutch," the brunet assured. "Just gonna take…a little time."

"I-I know."

The curly man tried to shift but suddenly gasped and took in a sharp breath.

Jaw muscles clenched and the dark eyes squeezed tightly shut against the wave of pain rolling through the torn, battered body.

The blond was instantly at his side, one hand reaching out to cover his chest, eyes filled with their own pain.

"Easy, Starsk. Easy. Just try to relax."

He felt the ragged intake of breath against his hand as his best friend tried to roll with the pain while trying to gulp oxygen into damaged lung tissue.

The fingers of his other hand moved over the gaunt cheekbones, felt the skin which still seemed too cool to the touch, and started to stroke softly, talking in soothing warm whispers as his best friend fought the pain.

Slowly under his touch, the tightly shut eyes started to un-crimp and smooth out, and after a few minutes, the clenched jaw muscles relaxed under the continued rhythmic ministration of the long caressing fingers.

The tired dark eyes finally opened, read the worry and the concern in the blond. ""M'sorry, Hutch…don't mean…ta be...so much trouble."

The blond face softened, tired bloodshot eyes glittering. "You're no trouble, babe. Never any trouble."

"You look like crap," the brunet replied.

The blond face cracked a little grin, then shrugged.

"Go home, Hutch…you're exhausted…gonna make yourself sick...I'll be all right."

"I…" he swallowed, fingers trembling slightly in the curls. "I will, in a little while, buddy…okay?"

The dark eyes gentled, sensing his need, yet grateful too. "O'kay…just 'till I fall asleep…then go home, promise…" he mumbled.

He nodded his head. "I promise."

The fingers continued their soft easy strokes, savoring the contact, the long silent hours spent in his empty apartment, alone, away from his injured partner having taken their toll.

The fan of lashes closed over sleepy eyes that finally stilled. The blond watched the pain filled features soften, becoming boyish once again as the brunet was pulled once more into a drug induced, healing sleep.

The tall weary blond pulled the chair close to the bed and eased down into it, intending to stay for just a little while longer as he promised…just a little longer…

~s~h~

An hour later when the nurse made her rounds she found the blond in the chair, his body curled against the bed, the head folded down and resting on top of the covers.

And on top of the fair head, a darker hand rested.

She approached and saw the indigo blue eyes open, the head turning sleepily towards her.

"How are you doing, David? Do you need anything?" she whispered.

The dark curly head shook. "Got everything I need...right here...Thanks."

The fingers moved gently over the golden hair causing a contented little smile to pass over the blond's lips.

The hand stilled but remained in place as the dark eyes drifted shut once again.

The nurse smiled, draping a blanket over the tall blond who did not awaken or even stir except to snuggle in closer to the hand. As she opened the door to leave, the silver cords to "Silent Night" drifted softly into the room.

...

(Merry Christmas, everyone, from bluespiritgal)


End file.
